Of Cool Girls and Coconut Pie
by Jeanie205
Summary: When new art teacher Clarke Griffin arrives at his middle school, history teacher Bellamy Blake is smitten immediately. But when he learns she has a girlfriend, it looks like she'd never be interested in him or any guy. But there's something Bellamy doesn't know. He may need some help from his friends, his sister Octavia, and some sweet coconut pie to straighten it all out.


It wasn't like he'd had any expectations. That's not what caught him up short when she dumped his ass. No, what Bellamy found most…confusing…was that he wasn't quite sure what they were breaking up _from._

"And that's the problem right there," was Echo's clipped, bitter response when he expressed this sentiment, while she angrily stuffed the few possessions she'd left at his place into a huge rainbow-covered tote bag that she'd bought on one of their outings.

And they hadbeen outings. Not dates. Because dating involved _feelings,_ and _relationships,_ and for a whole lot of reasons, Bellamy had finally given up on both.

Not that he didn't enjoy the women he spent time with. He found the flirting delightful, the company entertaining, and the sex was always very, very good.

But he did not become…attached.

For years, he'd waited in vain for the swoop in his stomach, the tingle down his spine, the shortness of breath, and the heart palpitations that he'd heard about from his friends. He hadn't even required _all_ the symptoms. A couple would have done. Or one. One small tingle or palpitation or tiny little swoop to tell him that _this_ time, he'd really fallen. That this woman was the one.

But it hadn't happened in the way he'd thought it would, and now he was pretty well resigned to the idea that it would be better to have no expectations at all.

His friends harassed him about his no-date _outings_ , and his sister Octavia told him he was an idiot, but Bellamy knew it was best to be honest with the women he met about the nature of their proposed…interactions.

Like with Echo.

He'd been upfront with her about the _not datin_ g and had been pretty sure she understood. She'd seemed perfectly okay with it, and they'd had plenty of good times. But four months later it was like he'd never even mentioned it. She'd been _really_ pissed off when he'd hesitated about accompanying her to her cousin's wedding, and his explanation about not wanting to give the "wrong impression" to her family had been seen less as honesty and more as him just being a dick.

Bellamy had felt like a jackass. Tried to backtrack and say he'd go. But it must have been obvious to her that his heart wasn't in it.

And that had been that.

"More than anything, I hope some girl really twists you up in knots," she hurled at him, cheeks mottled with anger, just before she flung herself out of his apartment, slamming the door so hard the hinges rattled. Bellamy winced at her words. _If only she knew._

He sighed as he peered through his kitchen window and watched her stalk down the walkway. He didn't loved Echo, but he liked her, and he knew he'd miss her company. What's more, it really sucked that now he was going to have to find a new companion for his outings. Bellamy wasn't sure he had the energy.

It was June, and he'd just said goodbye for the summer to his students at Ark City Middle School. So theoretically, he had plenty of time to peruse the bars, and the coffee shops, and any other place he might be likely to meet an attractive woman. But somehow, it felt like a lot more trouble than it was worth. Because Echo hadn't been the only one who seemed to think that "not dates" was meant for everyone but her. And when they found out different, when they got hurt, he just felt like a dick.

Which, he supposed, he was.

The safer plan, he eventually decided, was to hang with his friends for the summer. Loose and easy. No worries. And if he got a little horny, well, hell, he was 30 years old. He knew how to take care of that himself.

"You can hang around the bar," Murphy told him, "but I'm not providing entertainment. And you gotta pay for your drinks."

Shit! He didn't like Murphy that much anyway.

Miller said he'd be happy to hang out, but it could only be for a couple of hours in the afternoons. It was summer, the city needed more beat cops on the streets after dark, so he'd just been rotated to the night shift. Which meant he slept in all morning.

"We can have lunch," Miller said. "If you want."

"Jesus, Miller! _Lunch?_ What I _want_ is to be able to spend some time with my best friend. Why the hell would you take a job where you have to work nights?"

Bellamy knew he was being an asshole, that Miller's work was more than just a job. As his friend was quick to point out.

"Hey, did I harass you about your _chosen profession_ when you had to spend a shitload of potential hang time getting ready for the kiddies' book fair, or grading papers? Or when you actually gave up a Saturday night every other month to chaperone some fucking middle school dance? So, please. Let me not hear complaints from the guy who has the whole damn summer off!"

But that was the hell of it. The summer off and nothing do. His first summer off _ever_ , in fact, since he'd spent the past several working on his Master's part-time, because that was the only way he could afford it. But he'd finished up last summer, gotten his degree, and now he was at loose ends. With no one to hang out with.

Not even his sister, who lived in Polis with her family, a hundred miles away. Although he loved them all and had a standing invitation to visit, he was pretty sure she wouldn't really be on board with the idea of him moving in for the summer. And really, how pathetic would that make him, anyway?

Maybe his friend Monty, the math/science teacher in his teaching group, had had the right idea after all. Although Bellamy certainly hadn't thought so at the time. Monty and his girlfriend Harper (music and PE) had gotten themselves summer jobs at a resort out on the coast. Of all things, they provided activities for the guests' kids while mom and dad sunbathed or golfed or decked themselves out at the boutique.

Bellamy had told him he was nuts. No one enjoyed teaching more than he did, but didn't they want a break from dealing with kids all day? But Monty had been texting him for weeks now that the job was a piece of cake. The pay was great, especially with the tips, and they were off-duty by six.

By the third week in August, Bellamy had read so many books that he had permanent eyestrain, and with all the time he spent hugging a stool at Murphy's place, he was beginning to feel like a fucking barfly. So when Monty Skyped him and told him he should just get off his ass and come to the beach for a few days, he really wished he could consider it.

"Pretty sure that place you work at is way too rich for my blood."

"Not if you get the employee discount."

"And how you gonna work that magic?"

Monty shrugged. "I got friendly with the manager. Besides, reservations are down. Even though we're not due back until after Labor Day, a lot of schools are starting earlier. So the place is only half full. I can get you a great room at a decent rate."

"You sure about this?"

"Bellamy, just get the hell out here before I change my mind."

"But, uh, what about Harper?"

"What about her?"

"She won't mind?"

Monty chuckled. "Hardly. She thinks you're even more pathetic than I do. Come on. It'll be fun."

When the call ended, it took Bellamy about thirty seconds to decide. A few days at the beach had to be better than his current round of activities.

He pulled down his duffle bag from the closet shelf and texted Monty.

 _On my way._

The drive took longer than he'd expected. Traffic was heavy on the highway, and the last few miles were shrouded in fog as he twisted his way along the narrow coastal road. So it was very late when he arrived.

He thought it was possible Monty might have forgotten to reserve him a room, but he supposed he should have known better. As he waited for the clerk to program his key card, Bellamy checked his messages. Sure enough, there was one from Monty.

 _Sorry, dude. Couldn't wait up. Come see me at the activity center after breakfast. And don't be surprised if you run into a familiar face. Harper and I might have gotten our wires crossed._

Bellamy was too tired to suss out that cryptic message or even inspect the room much, except to note that it was clean and spacious and a hell of a lot nicer than any place he'd ever stayed.

 _You rock, Monty_ , was his last coherent thought as he slipped into bed. He was out like a light before his head hit the pillow.

Bellamy hated living out of a suitcase, so he unpacked his few belongings before he headed out for breakfast the next morning. Yesterday's fog had cleared and as he stepped out of the elevator, the sunshine poured into the lobby through the floor to ceiling windows. There was so much sunlight, in fact, that he nearly missed the familiar golden curls on the woman just checking in at the desk.

Bellamy stopped short, surprised, delighted…and appalled. _Oh, shit!_

"Clarke?"

She was leaning wearily against the marble counter, but her head turned when she heard her name. Her brief gasp of surprise was followed by a wary smile.

"What are you doing here?" The question from each was so synchronous it would be hard to say who'd begun to utter it first.

"Monty invited me." "Harper called me." The answers were equally simultaneous.

 _Fuck!_ Clarke Griffin was here. He'd thought he had at least another two weeks before he had to confront his wholly inappropriate and unwelcome attraction to the school's art and theater teacher. But, nope. Here she was, standing right in front of him

He knew Clarke was friendly with Harper, of course, but he'd also thought that she'd gone off to Europe for the summer with her parents. Her family's wealth was just another reason why his attraction to her was such a waste of time. But not the most important one, of course. Not the one that couldn't be overcome.

As he watched Clarke check in, Bellamy recalled the first time he'd seen her, nearly a year ago now. It had been teacher orientation day last September, and she'd been brand-new.

 _XXX…XXX_

" _Our new art and theater teacher." Principal Kane introduced her with a smile._

 _Bellamy was surprised by his swift, sure jolt of attraction, because Clarke Griffin looked nothing like the women he usually went for. She wasn't tall, slender, and dark-haired, but instead small and curvy, with a sunny smile and headful of wavy blonde hair._

 _He figured he must have been more obvious than usual about his interest, because Monty leaned over immediately to mutter in his ear. "Uh, I saw her arrive this morning, Bellamy, and I think maybe there's something you should know."_

 _But Harper appeared then and pretty soon he forgot that Monty had something he wanted to tell him about the pretty new teacher._

 _They ended up in the same focus group, he and Clarke, and suddenly Bellamy couldn't take his eyes off her. She was so earnest and confident without being arrogant and pushy. And she was an art teacher who didn't think that the more mundane disciplines were dull and prosaic._

" _So," he said, his smile tentative, when the group took a short break, "I try to make my room, um, eye-catching, but, uh, decoration is not my strong suit."_

" _But I'll bet you make history come alive for the kids." Her answering smile was bright._

 _Bellamy shrugged modestly. "Maybe." He smirked. "Tell you the truth, half the time I don't know if they're paying any attention at all. Or if that glassy-eyed stare really means they're deep into planning their afternoon at the mall or maybe figuring out their next move in some ongoing fantasy game."_

 _She laughed. "I'm sure they're listening. But I'd be happy to help with your bulletin boards."_

" _Great!"_

 _Bellamy was just starting to feel really good about the new art teacher when he chanced to glance across the room to see Monty staring at him, his brow furrowed and his lips twisted into a wry smile._ What the hell was that all about?

 _Lunch was eaten in one large group, and there was no opportunity for any kind of private conversation, so it wasn't until they were leaving and he was wondering if Clarke needed a ride home that he found he'd spent the entire day deluding himself._

" _Bellamy!"_

 _He hesitated for only an instant when he heard Monty calling from across the room, but it was long enough. When he turned back, Clarke had already slipped past him and out the door._

" _Can it wait?" he asked, moving rapidly though the doorway just as Monty caught up with him._

" _No, it can't. It's about Clarke," Monty said hurriedly._

" _What about her?" As Bellamy spoke, he scanned the grounds, finally finding her standing at the very edge of the lawn. "She's not married, or even engaged. I'm not stupid. I know enough to check for a ring."_

 _He was moving quickly now, trying to reach her before she left._

" _And even if she has a boyfriend now, that could change," he added with a shrug. Bellamy wasn't used to feeling such instant attraction and he refused to believe it meant nothing. Refused to believe that any obstacle was insurmountable._

" _No, that's not it," Monty said quietly, just as a sleek sports car pulled up next to Clarke and an equally sleek woman emerged._

 _Bellamy was a little perplexed when Clarke threw her arms around the_ _woman_.

" _I wonder who that is?" he muttered so quietly that only Monty could have heard him._

" _I think," Monty said, as the woman leaned over to kiss Clarke briefly on the mouth, "that that's Clarke's girlfriend."_

" _Oh."_ Oh.Well, fuck me.

 _Bellamy stood stock still, feeling pretty darned silly. He'd felt a kind of connection to Clarke that he'd never experienced before. And there was something about the way they'd interacted that had made him think maybe she'd felt it, too._

 _But now he was chagrined to find out that he'd totally misread the signs._

" _I'm an idiot," he told Monty, smiling ruefully._

 _XXX…XXX_

 _Lexa_. That was her name. A lawyer from Polis that Clarke had been dating for only a few months. He'd heard all about her when Clarke helped him the next afternoon with his bulletin boards.

After his initial disappointment, Bellamy had been certain that his flicker of a crush would die a natural death, and that instead they'd become good friends. But to his consternation, that wasn't what happened at all.

Because even though she wasn't into him, and she never would be, he _still_ couldn't seem to figure out how _not_ to be into her. And the better he knew her, the worse it seemed to get.

She was so damned helpful, for instance, about his bulletin boards. He kept trying to tell her that she didn't have to bother, that it wasn't necessary for her to keep changing them every time he started a new unit, but it didn't seem to matter. She said she enjoyed the challenge of "bringing history to life through art."

And dammit, he enjoyed having her around. Seeing her smile with satisfaction when he commented that something she created worked perfectly with his course material.

The trouble was, it was not just history she was bringing to life.

Inside his head, he railed at the unfairness of it all. Clarke Griffin was the coolest girl - quite possibly the coolest person - he had ever met. She was funny and smart and beautiful and kind. And they just…clicked.

She was, in fact, altogether perfect.

As long as he was content to remain in the friend zone. And, man, he tried. _He really, really tried._

But it was painful, and became more so as fall moved into winter. Because the longer he was around her, the more he liked her. He told himself over and over that continuing to crush on someone who would never welcome his romantic interest made him nothing more or less than a creep, but it didn't seem to help.

At Christmas, he went to Monty's holiday party without a date, and was stupidly, idiotically jealous when Clarke arrived with Lexa, wearing a simple dress in which she nevertheless looked absolutely beautiful. He then spent most of the evening carefully avoiding her, only to have her turn up at his side as he stood in the kitchen doorway, trying to decide if he could get away with leaving early.

"Are you avoiding me?" she asked bluntly, tipping her champagne flute dangerously.

"Of course not. Why would you think that?" he countered, grabbing her glass before she spilled the wine all over Monty's rug.

"I don't know," she shrugged, and although her voice was playful, and she was clearly a little drunk, for a split second she'd almost looked…hurt.

But then she laughed, grabbing at his hand. "I've got you now," she said, and he followed her glance upward to find that someone - probably Harper - had taped fake mistletoe to the lintel.

Before he could react - _before he could get the fuck out of there_ \- she used his hand as leverage to stretch up on her toes and brush a soft kiss across his lips. It began as the briefest of kisses, but then his eyes closed automatically, and his lips moved against hers like they had a will of their own.

He finally managed to tear himself away, mentally kicking himself for losing control. The shock on her face told him that he'd finally crossed the line. That he wouldn't have to wonder whether his interest in Clarke might make him seem like a creep, because he'd actually become one.

"I gotta…I gotta go," Bellamy rasped, no longer caring whether anyone else found his early departure odd.

After the holiday break, two things happened.

First, he began to assiduously avoid any one-on-one contact with Clarke Griffin. He couldn't dodge her entirely, of course, but he made every effort to keep their interactions as brief and as detached as possible.

Clarke had seemed a little puzzled. She and Bellamy had always been cordial, right from that first day, so she probably thought of him as a friend. He had to keep reminding himself that if she'd known what was going on inside his head, she might have felt a lot less friendly.

And then one Thursday he discovered to his horror that Clarke was scheduled to be the second chaperone when he performed his bi-monthly monitor duty at the school dance that week. At lunchtime, she passed by his table and remarked with a smile, "See you at the dance on Saturday."

Bellamy was gobsmacked.

At the beginning of the semester, he'd deliberately waited for her to sign up for chaperone duty first, and then very carefully chosen dates when he knew she wouldn't be present. So this should never have happened. And yet, it had.

He immediately went into panic mode

With only two days to fix the problem, Bellamy wasn't focused on subtlety as he canvassed his colleagues, trying to get someone to switch with him. He came up with all sorts of excuses, invented all kinds of emergencies, but still came up empty. Finally, on Friday afternoon, out of sheer desperation he paid the male PE teacher fifty bucks to swap with him.

"You must really have a damn good reason for flaking on this dance, Blake," the guy said with a smirk as he pocketed the bill.

The guy was an asshole, and Bellamy just knew the story of his pressing need to dump that particular chaperone duty would probably get around. Still, he figured there was no reason Clarke should think it had anything to do with her. But maybe something about the timing tipped her off, because after that weekend his interactions with Clarke Griffin rapidly degenerated from detached and professional to cold and aloof.

Bellamy kept telling himself it was all for the best. But _damn_ , how he missed seeing her smile.

The second thing that happened was that several weeks into the new year he met Echo, and he succeeded in persuading himself that she was exactly the distraction he needed. She was precisely what he'd always thought of as "his type," not just physically, but in every other way. She liked to bike and to run, and she was real competition on the handball court.

But he didn't feel that connection. She didn't touch that place inside him that no one seemed really able to define. He wasn't in love, and he knew he never would be. And eventually Echo had known it, too.

XXXXXXXXXX

Bellamy shook his head at the irony. Monty had persuaded him to come to the beach to relax, and now here he was, confronted by the very person who had created such turmoil inside him for nearly a year.

He told himself it was long past time he got over himself. Absolutely _none_ of this was Clarke's fault. She was who she was and he respected her for it. If he felt something _more_ than friendship, something he knew she could never reciprocate, that was on him.

"Hey, Clarke," he smiled, and suddenly he did feel better. He reminded himself that he liked Clarke, liked her company. Enjoyed her wit and her warmth.

"Hey, Bellamy." Her answering smile became a bit less wary. "I guess we're both a little surprised."

"Yeah, but I'm good surprised."

"Yeah?" Her eyebrows rose, as though she wasn't quite sure whether to believe him.

"Sure. This is a beautiful place. We'll have fun."

Bellamy had a sudden thought, looked around quickly.

"Are you alone? No… _Lexa_?"

She shook her head, narrowing her eyes at him. "Lexa and I broke up months ago, Bellamy. I guess I thought you would have known."

The happy little _zing_ he felt was stupid, he knew. It could make absolutely no difference to him.

He shook his head because he hadn't heard, but he was completely unable to pretend that he was sorry by making the usual consoling remarks.

"Let me help you with your bags, then," he said instead, grabbing the larger of the two. "Have you had breakfast?"

"Nope. The bus left at 6 am, and I just couldn't face breakfast that early."

"You took the bus?" he asked, as they headed into the elevator.

"Yep," she nodded, pressing the button for the fourth floor. "I hate long-distance driving, and that was the first bus I could get."

"What happened to, uh, Europe? I did hear about that."

Clarke smirked. "It's not that I don't love my parents, but after a while…"

"Yeah, I can see that." Bellamy found himself grinning at her without even thinking about it.

As he watched a smile light up her face, it was useless to pretend to himself that he wasn't glad to see her. That he wasn't thrilled at the prospect of spending the next several days in her company. He could feel himself getting lighter and happier with every step he took.

Even though he knew that he'd pay the price for it later. When he was home, and she wasn't around, and he was once again forced to confront the fact that this was all of Clarke he was ever going to have. For the next few days, at least, he decided he'd take what he could get.

They ate breakfast in the hotel cafe and then made their way to the activity center. Bellamy was tempted to pull out his phone and take a quick snap of the looks on Monty's and Harper's faces when they saw him walk in with Clarke. He would _love_ to have been a fly on the wall at the moment the two of them realized they might have inadvertently created an incredibly awkward situation.

Monty's forehead wrinkled into a worried frown, but his face relaxed when Bellamy smiled. When Clarke shrugged, Harper laughed in relief, and ran over to give her a hug.

"Surprise?" she smirked hopefully.

"Definitely a surprise," Clarke agreed. "But," she added, glancing up at Bellamy and echoing his earlier words, "a nice one."

"We're off to the beach," Bellamy said. "So, if you're looking for us…"

Harper nodded. "We get an hour for lunch. We'll find you then and make a plan."

Bellamy nodded at Monty and received an apologetic look in return. His own lips tugged up into a rueful smile and he shrugged.

He hoped Monty understood. _It's okay. I'm making the best of it._

XXXXXXXXXX

It was definitely a bit weird. Monty and Harper worked every day til six, so he and Clarke were essentially on their own. He supposed they could have gone their separate ways, but that would have made it even weirder. Still, it was a little bizarre to be hanging around all day with this girl he was so totally into, and yet somehow have to find a way to keep it completely platonic.

Bellamy figured he'd live, but maybe only just barely.

He and Clarke quickly found an easy, friendly, _companionable_ rhythm, a good back and forth flow that he felt they were both comfortable with. Despite the fact that the hotel was winding down for the season, and many guests had left, the weather was still ideal, the water temperature perfect, and there was still plenty to do.

On a positive note, the fact that he and Clarke were not romantic, and he knew they never would be be, took a lot of the pressure off him. Bellamy wasn't concerned about appearing too interested, or, conversely, about not paying her enough attention. He didn't worry about finding appealing activities, or fret over whether she would like something he'd decided to try.

As it turned out, she went along when he signed up for something she thought she might enjoy, like snorkeling or whale watching, but waved him away when he proposed parasailing.

"This is a vacation," she declared, settling in at the beach with a book. "I'm not doing anything that takes _effort_."

He liked that about Clarke. She didn't approach life as a competition, where every activity was ride or die. She did what she liked and shrugged off what didn't interest her. She never had anything to prove, either to herself or anyone else.

So he went parasailing solo, loving it, vowing to try it again whenever he had the chance.

He'd figured it was probably a good time for him to take a break from Clarke, anyway, considering how she looked in what he knew was actually a very modest one-piece bathing suit. Because how she looked was better than anyone else on that beach. Bellamy had tried very hard not to notice _at all_ , but he was finally forced to give it up as a lost cause.

"You really should have let me put some sun block on your back before you left," she said worriedly, when he returned exhausted, flopping down beside her onto a lounger. "Your shoulders look really red."

"Nah, I'm good. My Filipino half will tan up in a flash."

She grinned. "And is that the right half or the left? Front or back? Top or bottom?"

Bellamy laughed, reaching out automatically to tickle her side. But then he remembered, and stopped himself just in time. Best not to touch her.

In an instant, Clarke's grin had morphed into a look of bewilderment, but then she shrugged and they both settled back into their chairs to enjoy the sea air and the sound of the waves crashing against the sand.

At that moment, Bellamy realized that despite the odd situation, they were having a really good time. Or at least he was, and he hoped Clarke was, too. It seemed like they got along perfectly.

He sighed. Of fucking _course_ they did.

At night, the four of them scouted out cheap places to eat. Bellamy had taken one look at the prices on the hotel restaurant menu and declared, "No fucking way."

"The food here sucks anyway," Monty assured him.

But there were plenty of burger joints and waffle houses, clam shacks and Chinese buffets, as long as they didn't mind a little bit of a stroll down the boardwalk. Then they'd find a hole-in-the-wall bar and have a few drinks, before wandering back to their ritzy hotel.

While Monty and Harper made their way toward the employee quarters, Clarke and Bellamy would head for the guest elevators. Clarke's room was on the fourth floor, right near the elevator, while Bellamy's was on the fifth. Every night, he'd hold the elevator door open, watching to make sure that Clarke made it into her room safely. She'd turn at the door with a half-smile and a wave, and he'd nod and press the button so the lift could take him up one more floor.

To safety.

On their fourth night at the resort, the same day he'd gone parasailing, things went a little differently. She paused at the elevator door and turned to him with a tentative smile.

"It's early and I'm not really tired. Do you want to come in and watch that documentary about, uh, the Romans that you were talking about earlier? I'm pretty sure they have Netflix here."

Bellamy swallowed, shaken by the prospect of being alone in a hotel room with Clarke Griffin. It was stupid, he knew, because her suggestion was totally innocent. And yet…while they were engaged in this completely platonic activity, he'd no doubt spend the whole time stressing over keeping her in the dark about exactly how much, and in what ways, he really liked her.

The fates were actively conspiring to make him a little crazy.

So… _yeah, no thanks._

"No, thanks," he said, giving her what he hoped was a friendly smile, and yawning hugely. He shrugged. "Parasailing."

"Right," she nodded, her smile gone, her face blank. "Get some sleep."

Still afraid he might give in to the temptation to spend just a little more time with her, Bellamy was convulsively pressing the "Close Doors" button before she'd even unlocked her door.

The next day, the weather was still cooperating and he and Clarke were back to relaxing at the beach, but he noted that she was very quiet and seemed a little…distant. That night, when she failed to show up at the usual meeting place for dinner, Bellamy took a quick ride up to the fourth floor to find out what was keeping her.

"I thought maybe you might be getting a little sick of me," she shrugged when he asked why the hell she wasn't down in the lobby.

"Don't be stupid," he said, giving her his best crooked smile. "Why would you think that? Come on. Harper and Monty are about to pass out from hunger."

Clarke studied his face for a moment, perhaps, he thought, judging his sincerity. Then finally she heaved a sigh. "Let me get my purse."

As they rode the elevator to the lobby, Bellamy wondered how the hell he was supposed to thread that tiny little needle between blowing Clarke off and spending more time with her than was really good for his peace of mind.

That night, they settled on a pseudo English pub that specialized in things like fish and chips and shepherd's pie. For the first time, instead of sliding in next to him in the booth, Clarke pushed in beside Harper. So while he didn't have to pull desperately away from every random scrape of their feet or brush of their hands, he instead was forced to focus on not staring at her face while they ate.

Not that Clarke was looking at him, or really, it seemed, at much of anything. She was quiet, and it didn't look like she was eating with her usual gusto. Monty and Harper were carrying on like normal, though, so he thought maybe his hyperawareness of Clarke was making him see things that weren't really there.

"Coconut cream pie!" Harper's sudden exclamation startled him.

"Huh?"

"They have coconut cream pie," she said, waving the dessert menu at him. "I love coconut. Maybe I'll splurge on a few dessert calories tonight."

"You don't need to worry about calories, Harp," Monty assured her with a laugh.

"Totally worth it anyway," Bellamy said. "Not that it could compare with my mom's buko pie, but anything with coconut is bound to be great."

"I love buko pie," Clarke volunteered, speaking up for almost the first time that evening.

"What?" Bellamy couldn't contain the note of skepticism he'd injected into that one-word response. "You can't have had buko pie. You must be thinking of something else."

Clarke's head shot up, and he recognized the challenge in her eyes.

"Not only have I _had_ buko pie, but I _make_ a great buko pie," she asserted, as though daring him to contradict her.

And so he did.

"That's…very unlikely. It's a Filipino dessert. My mom learned how to make it from my dad before he died."

"Yeah, I know exactly what it is," she insisted, her tone becoming more strident. "I loved it so much that I learned how to make it from our Filipino nanny."

"Your… _nanny_?" Bellamy was once again forcibly reminded that there was more than one unbridgeable divide between himself and Clarke Griffin.

Suddenly, he was furiously angry. Mostly with himself, for being completely unable to shake this hopeless crush that had, if anything, only become more intense over the past several days. And for not knowing how the _hell_ to be around this woman without upsetting her in some way.

But at that moment, the thing that he was most angry about - and Bellamy knew very well how utterly _childish_ he was being - was that it seemed like Clarke Griffin was trying to appropriate his favorite dessert _._ _Via her domestic help!_

She flushed. "My parents were… still are… busy people. They don't always have time for…stuff. So they hire help. She…Luz…was only with us for a year, but she knew I liked to cook and she taught me how to make a few things. One of them was buko pie."

"You make buko pie." He repeated her assertion stiffly, unable to filter out the note of disbelief that still lingered in his tone.

"That's what I just said, isn't it?" Her dimpled chin rose challengingly.

Bellamy huffed, stupidly peeved.

"You can't possibly make it right. You have to get special coconut…"

"…I know that…"

"…and make the crust a certain way."

Clarke nodded. "I know that, too," she said, the challenge in her eyes hardening, "Then…I guess your mother must have been the only person in the world who could make buko pie."

"Of course not," he admitted tersely. "But it's…not an easy dish. I mean…Octavia loves it, too, and before she died, Mom tried to show her how to make it. But Octavia just couldn't get the hang of it. She said it was…tricky."

"So Octavia is the current buko pie expert in your life?" Clarke asked pointedly.

Bellamy wasn't sure what she was getting at, but he nodded fractionally. "Uh, yeah, I suppose so."

"Good," she said. "Then why don't we just let her decide if I know how to make a buko pie."

"Huh? How we gonna do that?"

"She lives in Polis, right?" By now, Clarke was practically gritting her teeth.

"Yeah, but…"

"So do my parents, but they're still in Europe, so I can have the house all to myself."

"All to yourself…?"

"For pie baking. We still have a few days before we have to be back at school, so tomorrow, you and I are going to drive to Polis, I'll make a pie, and then we'll let Octavia decide which one of us is full of shit."

It was a challenge that Bellamy knew he was not going to be able to refuse.

XXXXXXXXXX

When he called, Octavia had been happy to hear he was making a quick visit, but a bit confused about the pie baking.

"You have a friend who makes buko pie? And she's bringing one here? Awesome!"

"Yeah, well, I'm not sure she really knows what she's doing, O, so I hope you're not going to be disappointed."

Bellamy was afraid his voice must have given something away because there was a long pause before Octavia spoke again.

"What's really going on, Bell?" she asked, in that tone that he knew meant she was going to keep digging until she got to the heart of the matter, whatever the hell it was.

"Nothing," he said quickly, giving deflection his best shot. "My, uh, colleague claims she can make buko pie, but I doubt it. So you're going to decide if it's…if it's the real thing. That's all."

There was another pause, this one even longer. And then a sigh.

"Okay," she said finally. "Don't tell me. I'll figure it out anyway. And if we're getting buko pie, then we can at least give your, uh, _colleague_ dinner. Lincoln can grill some steaks."

"Great," he said, eager now to cut this conversation short. Afraid she might decide that she had a few more questions after all.

But Octavia just laughed, "I can't wait to meet this pie baker," she said before ringing off.

The drive to Polis - a destination which was not in any way a convenient side trip when traveling from the beach back to Ark City - took them most of the morning. Clarke was even quieter than she'd been at dinner the night before, so he'd turned on the car radio to fill the silence. He'd been so sure she'd ask him to change the station from the classical music he found soothing, and had prepared himself for a fight. But Clarke said nothing, merely slumping against the passenger door and closing her eyes against the bright sunlight.

As they approached the outskirts of Polis, Clarke reminded him that she didn't have a car and asked if he could stop by the specialty market so she could purchase the ingredients for the pie.

"So now you need my help to produce this pie? Isn't that…uh…bending the rules a little?"

Clarke's brow furrowed as she side-eyed him frostily.

"Was your mother able to conjure her buko pie out of thin air?" she asked, her voice testy.

"No, of course not," he conceded.

"I rest my case."

Bellamy sighed, taking the exit for the retail district, while she directed him to the right shop. It was impossible to find a place to park, so he dropped her off quickly, driving around the block several times until she finally emerged, a heavy-looking bag hanging from her fingers.

"All set?" he asked tentatively, considering, not for the first time, how sorry he was that he'd started this whole buko pie business.

Clarke nodded tersely as she slid into the car and began directing him to her parents' home. The Griffins lived on the other side of Polis from Octavia, and although he'd expected something palatial after hearing the word 'nanny', the house turned out to be relatively modest.

"What time should I pick you up?" he asked as she slid out of the car.

Clarke turned to look at him, catching his eye for the first time since they'd started out that morning. He caught his breath, unable to decipher the expression on her face, and for a moment, he couldn't seem to look away.

Then her gaze shifted and she moved to the back door to grab her small case, declining his offer of help. "No point in bringing in the big suitcase," she said. "I'm only going to be here for a few hours."

She pulled out her phone to check the time.

"I guess you can pick me up at seven."

Bellamy nodded.

"Are you sure you don't need my help with anything else?" he asked automatically, as she was about to shut the car door

Her head snapped up.

"The only thing I need from you, Bellamy, is a ride back to Ark City after dinner," she said firmly.

He watched as she made her way up the walkway and into the house, his mind in turmoil as he tried to figure out how it was he'd so quickly and thoroughly destroyed his newly-rekindled friendship with Clarke Griffin.

XXXXXXXXXX

It was always great to see Octavia. Bellamy had already visited her several times that summer, but she and Lincoln were busy running a business as well as caring for their two-year-old daughter. So he never stayed more than one night at a time.

"You're home," he said, surprised, when Octavia opened the door before he even had the chance to fish out his key.

"Well, yeah," she said, shifting Rory from one hip to the other. "When you call me at 8am and tell me company's coming for dinner, I really need to take the day off."

"Hey, dinner was your idea, O. I just said we were bringing you a pie."

Octavia laughed. "Relax, Bell. I only had one zumba class this afternoon, and I got someone to cover for me. Lincoln had a couple of private clients that he couldn't dump, but he'll be home by six."

Octavia and Lincoln ran a fitness center that catered to all types of exercise regimens. Lincoln also did personal training for a wide variety of clients, from image-obsessed housewives to professional athletes. Bellamy had helped them out financially when they were setting up the business, but Polis had turned out to be a good location for their niche enterprise. They'd been very successful, and had repaid him long ago.

"So who is this woman who's bringing me a buko pie?" Octavia asked, as she set her daughter down and tried to work around her.

Bellamy looked at his watch. Five minutes since she'd opened the door. He hadn't thought she'd make it even that long.

"Clarke Griffin, the art teacher at the middle school. Hey," he said immediately, not even bothering to be subtle about the change of subject, "why don't I take Rory off your hands for a bit? We can go to the park or something. You'll get a lot more done without her underfoot."

Octavia narrowed her eyes at him. "And of course if you're not around, I can't ask you any more questions."

Bellamy shrugged, scooping his niece off the floor and depositing her into the stroller that always stood in the hallway. The two-year-old giggled when her favorite uncle strapped her in, jumping up and down with excitement as he grabbed the go-bag from the hall closet.

"I'll wear her out, O. She'll sleep like a log when we get back."

The local park was only a short stroll from Octavia's house, and Bellamy was happy to be out in the sunshine after the long drive from the beach. As he played with his niece, pushing her gently on the baby swings, hoisting her onto her favorite rocking horse, tossing around an enormous ball, his mind never strayed too far from the problem of what he should tell his sister.

By the time Rory began to yawn, and he lifted her back into the stroller for the return trip, he'd come to the conclusion that for once Octavia's curiosity was going to have to be left unsatisfied.

Octavia tried again later, when he grabbed his gear to take a quick shower before he picked up Clarke.

"Really, Bell, don't you think you should tell me what's going on before Clarke gets here?"

Bellamy sighed. "Just leave it alone, Octavia," he said, his voice tight. When her eyes widened in surprise, he was pretty sure she'd finally gotten the message.

XXXXXXXXXX

He arrived at seven on the dot, and Clarke was ready and waiting, one hand hefting a foil-covered pie plate and the other resting on the handle of her rolling overnight bag. Bellamy couldn't help noticing that she'd changed her clothes, and if he hadn't known otherwise, he'd have been convinced that she'd chosen the lacy white sundress for the sole purpose of driving him fucking nuts.

"What's the matter?" she asked, as he stowed her case in the back and opened the passenger door.

Bellamy could feel himself flushing, and wondered what the hell had given him away.

"Nothing," he said quickly. "How did the pie come out?"

"Perfect," she said tersely, before lapsing into silence for the remainder of the trip.

Octavia waited for his knock this time, opening the door with a welcoming smile.

"You must be Clarke," she said sweetly, with an enthusiastic display of good manners that Bellamy hadn't known she possessed.

He sighed inwardly, immediately seeing through his sister's subterfuge. If she couldn't get what she wanted from Bellamy, it looked like she was going to try charming the information out of Clarke. Not that that was going to do her any good at all. Because Clarke Griffin had no fucking idea what had been going on inside his head for the past year, and he'd be more than happy to keep it that way.

Lincoln appeared then, carrying a pajama-clad Rory, who squealed when she saw her uncle again. Bellamy laughed as the baby nearly leaped out of her father's arms and into his. She giggled with delight when he began to tickle her gently.

"Hey, don't get my kid too excited just before bedtime," Octavia admonished, "or you'll be the one trying to put her down for the night while she screams your ears off."

"No problem," he said, more than willing to hide out in Rory's room if it meant that he could escape Octavia's shrewd glances and Clarke's guarded ones.

Bellamy shifted the child on his hip, swinging around just in time to catch Clarke's eyes on him. Surprising a look on her face that he was sure he'd never seen there before. Before he could even begin to wonder about it, Clarke had turned away, flushed.

Maybe she didn't like little kids, he speculated, perplexed. Or maybe she just considered him too much of an idiot to deal with them properly.

"Never mind, Bell. Let me take her," Octavia said, her eyes glinting at him as she retrieved her daughter and headed toward the nursery.

Bellamy frowned and his head began to spin. _What the hell was_ that _all about?_

In the end, the evening wasn't as excruciating as he'd feared. Lincoln was a masterful griller, and while Octavia was not exactly a gourmet cook, she could handle a couple of salads. The longer they were there, the more comfortable Clarke appeared, any lingering disquiet eased, no doubt, by Octavia's friendly smiles and Lincoln's soothing presence.

He supposed the worst moment of the night for him should have been the dessert course, when he bit into Clarke's buko pie. Which was…indisputably… buko pie.

"Great pie," Octavia said, and while he knew she was trying to charm Clarke, he also knew she wouldn't stoop to outright lies to do it.

Besides, Octavia was not wrong.

"The pie is delicious," he told Clarke, deciding to concede the game upfront. Especially since he'd been such a dick about the whole thing.

She was entitled to do a little gloating of course. She'd proven her point, after all; two, in fact. Clarke Griffin made delicious buko pie, and Bellamy Blake was a jackass. But she didn't gloat. Instead, she accepted his compliment with grace and with the first real smile he'd seen on her face in days.

"Thanks," she said, and he found himself entirely unable to look away from the faint flush that colored her cheeks.

As he studied her face, Bellamy considered that that moment was probably both the apex and the nadir of his relationship with Clarke Griffin. He knew she was everything he wanted. And that what he wanted made no earthly difference to how things actually were.

Octavia finally broke the silence that had grown thick around them by rising to clear the table. Clarke jumped up to help and when they'd both disappeared into the kitchen, Lincoln offered Bellamy another beer.

"Better not," Bellamy shook his head. "I still have to drive back to Ark City tonight."

Lincoln nodded, silent for several minutes, before finally clearing his throat.

"I like Clarke," he said quietly. "Pretty sure I'd like her even if she couldn't make buko pie," he added with a playful smile.

Bellamy groaned. "Not you, too. That's not how things are, Lincoln. Or how they ever will be."

Lincoln nodded again. "If you say so."

Bellamy closed his eyes, too tired to argue. He suddenly felt exhausted, the long day having finally taken its toll. When Clarke and Octavia returned from the kitchen, chatting companionably, he rose immediately, suddenly desperate to put this night behind him. He only wished he could solve the greater problem with a simple change of location.

"We need to leave now, Clarke," he said abruptly. "It's been a tiring day and we've still got a long drive."

She agreed immediately, but the smile fell off her face, and interpreting her new expression was, by then, utterly beyond him.

As they were saying their goodbyes, Octavia hugged him gently and spoke to him quietly.

"You can expect a phone call from me in a couple hours, Bell. Don't even think about not answering."

"Dammit, O! I'm exhausted," he muttered softly. "Can't it wait until tomorrow?"

"No, dumbass, it can't wait. So make sure you pick up the fucking phone."

There was little traffic at that time of night, but it was still nearly midnight when he pulled up outside Clarke's rented bungalow, the first time he'd ever been there.

"Don't bother," she said quickly, when he made to get out and help with her bags. "I can handle them," she added, pulling both from the back seat.

"Clarke," he began, with no idea at all what the hell he wanted to say to her.

Not that it mattered.

"Bellamy," she interrupted, her mouth turned up in a wry little smile. "It's okay. Really. I'll see you at school on Tuesday."

And then she was gone, down the walkway and into the little house. Before he could ask exactly what it was that was okay.

As far as he could tell, nothing was okay. And it felt like nothing ever would be again.

XXXXXXXXXX

When Bellamy's phone rang just as he was pulling into his driveway, he realized that he'd held out some faint hope that his sister wouldn't really bother to call. After all, why would a woman who had to be up early with her small child stay awake until midnight just to make a phone call? What couldn't wait until morning?

But when the call came, he remembered that this was Octavia, and that once she got an idea in her head, it took a nuclear blast to get rid of it. If she wanted to talk to him that night, she'd find a way to make it happen.

Bellamy accepted the call, amazed by her uncanny timing.

"What the hell is so important?" he said by way of greeting, locking the car and moving toward his tiny apartment. "I really just wanna go to bed."

"Too bad, big brother, since you can't seem to get your head out of your ass."

Bellamy sighed, shifting the phone to his other hand as he unlocked the door, stepped inside, and flopped down onto his well-worn couch.

"You know, I'm actually a grownup person, O, capable of running my own life."

"Not by my standards, you're not. Not after the way you left my house."

"What the hell does _that_ mean? It was getting late and we had a long drive so we left."

"Yeah, but it was the _way_ you left. How you sounded. Like you suddenly couldn't wait to get away from her…"

"O…"

"…when I know damn well how much you like her."

Bellamy groaned. This again.

"We've already been down this road, Octavia…"

"No, Bell, we haven't. Before I met her I only _thought_ you might like her. But now that I've seen the two of you together, I can see just how into her you really are."

"Christ, O! Will you just leave it alone! It doesn't matter how much I like her because it's never gonna happen."

"Why the hell not? You like her, and she's _clearly_ into you…"

Bellamy barked out a laugh. "Your antennae need to go in for a tuneup. Clarke is not into me. At least…not like that."

"Are you nuts? She's so into you she can't even begin to hide it. How can you not see it?"

Octavia's voice was filled with such puzzled exasperation that Bellamy knew the only way he could end this was by being explicit.

"O," he said quietly, "I know you think you're right, but you've got the wrong end of the stick. Clarke doesn't like me…at least, not like that…because she's into women. When I first met her, she'd been dating this lawyer from Polis for months."

"Yeah, I know. Lexa. I heard all about Lexa."

"You heard?" He frowned. "When did you hear about Lexa?"

"Tonight. Women chat when they're working together, Bell. It's a girl thing."

Bellamy shook his head in confusion, "Okay. Well, if you heard about Lexa, then why are we even having this conversation?"

When Octavia didn't answer immediately, Bellamy thought maybe he'd finally gotten through to her. Until she spoke again, this time pronouncing each word slowly, deliberately.

"But you know she broke up with Lexa, right?"

"I know they aren't dating any longer. I don't know the details. But I don't think that changes a thing, O. Clarke is still a lesbian."

Octavia sighed. "No, Bell, she's not."

Bellamy was beginning to think he'd entered the twilight zone.

"Look, O, you just said…"

"Bell, I assume you know what bisexuality is?" The statement was so tentative, it was more like a half-assed question.

Bellamy was taken aback. "Are you being serious here? Of course I know…"

"Yeah, well that's what Clarke is. She's into women. She's into men. She's an equal opportunity lover."

Bellamy sat up straighter. _What the hell was she talking about?_

"Why do you think that?"

"Because she told me. That's why."

Bellamy felt his head begin to spin as pieces of what he knew about Clarke tried to rearrange themselves and reform into a slightly different picture.

Still, he couldn't quite allow himself believe in this new understanding of Clarke.

"But…well, then…I don't get it. If she likes men, too, how come she's never dated any? I mean, I saw her plenty with Lexa, but I've never seen her show interest in any man."

Octavia's groan came through loud and clear.

"You really are an idiot, Bell. She hasn't dated any men —or any other women, for that matter — because the person she wants to be with is _you_."

For just an instant, Bellamy would swear he felt his heart stop. And then it began to beat like a jackhammer as he wondered if there was even the remotest possibility that his busybody sister could be right. If Clarke really might, after all…

Octavia spoke again, hesitantly this time. "But the thing is, Bell, the reason I wanted to tell you this right away…"

She sighed, clearly choosing her words with care.

"Apparently, you haven't been quite as careful about keeping your interest in Clarke to yourself as you thought. You've been kind of sending her…mixed signals. And, Bell," she paused again, then finally plowed ahead, "she's somehow got it into her head that the reason you haven't followed through on asking her out is that she's bisexual. That that…disgusts you."

" _What!"_ Bellamy was on his feet now, pacing around his small living room. "Are you fucking _kidding_ me?!"

"Bell, I'm sorry. I tried to tell her that you weren't like that. That it wouldn't make any different to you…"

"It wouldn't have made a _fucksworth_ of difference, _if I had ever known!"_

Bellamy was out the door now, his phone still at his ear as he slammed himself back into his car.

"I can't talk anymore, O. I gotta go." He was already halfway out the driveway.

"Where the hell are you going?" Octavia squawked, but he'd tossed his phone onto the seat.

"To pull my head out of my ass," he muttered into the night.

XXXXXXXXXX

As he made his way along the darkened streets of Ark City, Bellamy suddenly remembered Clarke's last words to him.

 _It's okay. Really._

Fuck!

Did she really think he was such an asshole that he'd reject her just because she was bisexual? And those words…were they meant to give him a _pass_ on being a shithead?

The more he thought about it, the more pissed off he got. Until finally he wasn't sure if he was angrier with himself for being so stupid about Clarke…or with Clarke for having such a low opinion of him.

By the time he pulled into her street, he still had no clear idea of what he wanted to say to her. Only that whatever it was couldn't wait another minute.

He thought at first that her house was completely in the dark, but then he saw a faint glimmer of light shining through an upstairs window. Not that he would have hesitated to rouse her from her sleep, but Bellamy really didn't want to make a scene on this quiet street in the middle of the night. So as he exited his car and walked towards her front door, he prayed Clarke was still awake.

He rapped once lightly, and then again, and within seconds a new light was flickering through a first floor window. And shortly after that the front door opened, tentatively at first, and then wider when she recognized him.

And there she was, standing right in front him, clad only in a pair of shiny blue sleep shorts and a matching tank top, a zippered hoodie thrown around her shoulders.

For an instant, Bellamy stopped breathing.

"Bellamy, what are you doing here?" Her voice was low, barely above a whisper. She frowned, clearly perplexed.

And of all the things that had been swirling around in his head, out of everything that he wanted to say to Clarke, all the protestations about months of buried feelings and explanations about miscommunication of gigantic proportions, what came out of his mouth in that moment was something else entirely.

"How could you think so little of me?" he flung at her, his voice raspy. "That I'm some asshole who doesn't want you because maybe you like girls, too?"

He could see her face flush in the dim light.

"Octavia shouldn't have said anything to you…"

"You're wrong. Wrong about Octavia and wrong about me."

Clarke sighed. "Maybe you should come in," she said, opening the door wide enough to allow him to walk past her into her living room, then closing it behind him.

"What's this all about?" she asked, folding her arms across her body in what Bellamy had come to recognize as her self-protective mode. He began to think that maybe he should start again.

"I'm sorry. I should have started at the beginning. But the idea that there's any reason at all that I wouldn't want to be with you is just…fucking nuts."

Clarke's face remained wary, as though she wasn't quite sure what to make of this statement, and in that instant Bellamy knew that he was going to have to dive in head first or this just wasn't going to work.

"Clarke, I'm not sure if you've noticed, but I can guarantee you that everyone else we know has."

"Noticed…?"

"That I've been pretty much gone on you since just about the first day we met. God knows, I tried everything to get over you, but nothing ever worked." He shook his head ruefully. "I was totally crazy about the one girl I couldn't ever have."

She gazed at him, frowning slightly.

"I knew…that is, I thought at first…that maybe you liked me a little. But then you backed way off and…Bellamy, you started to treat me like some kind of pariah. And I couldn't think of any reason why you would do that except that you couldn't deal with the fact that I'd had serious relationships with other women."

Bellamy huffed in frustration, running his hands through his hair and across his face.

"How about we look for another explanation," he said finally, his voice quiet. "Like maybe I was sure I'd fallen for a girl who only liked women, and that if she found out that my feelings for her were not exactly platonic, she'd realize I was the biggest creep she'd ever met."

He looked at her pointedly. "That make sense to you?"

But Clarke just seemed bewildered. "Who said I only liked women?"

"Who said you _didn't_?" he shot back immediately.

"But… everyone knows I'm bisexual. At home, at college. I thought…that is, I would have thought it was obvious."

"How? How would it be obvious? We saw you with Lexa and we made an assumption. It's not like anyone was going to pry into your personal life?"

Bellamy's voice softened.

"But…I'm so sorry, Clarke. For making you think I could ever not like you because of who you are. Because that would be…impossible."

"So you didn't know? And you still had…trouble getting over me?" He thought he saw the beginnings of a faint smile.

He nodded, his lips twisting into a wry smirk. "Been driving myself nuts for an entire year."

"So what about now?" she asked, her smile beginning to flower into something altogether happier. "Now that you know that I'm not only interested in women?"

"Well…I guess that would depend a lot on whether you might be into guys in a general sort of way, or whether you happen to be into the guy who's just confessed to being the most oblivious jackass in Ark City."

Clarke laughed, unfolding her arms at last and reaching out for his hands.

"I don't know if you're actually the _most_ oblivious jackass. There must be other contenders. Maybe I could do some comparisons and get back to you."

"Shut up," he said, smiling broadly now, as he reached out to cup her cheek. He thought he heard her breath catch just before he bent down to gently slide his lips against hers.

At first, it felt much like the mistletoe kiss, pleasant and tingly and full of longing. But then Clarke wound her arms around his neck and opened her mouth, and when he felt her tongue glide against his, Bellamy slid his hands over her silk-clad bottom and pulled her flush against him, unleashing a torrent of passion that he'd been keeping at bay for nearly a year.

The kiss went on and on, all lips and tongues and hot breath, arms tightening and hands caressing. Bellamy felt himself growing hard as she ground herself against him. Soon they were both gasping for air.

"I…I should go," he said, forcing himself to pull away, if only a few inches. Conscious of the hour, and of the fact that he'd invaded her home essentially uninvited.

"Or instead," she suggested softly, holding his gaze with heavy-lidded eyes, "you could have a tour of my house. For instance, the second floor has some wonderful architectural features."

"Yeah? And where would those be?" he asked, holding his breath and stroking her palm with his thumb.

"In the bedroom," she said, her voice husky.

Oh, god! Bellamy wanted her so much that he was almost afraid this was some beautiful dream and that any second he'd wake up alone in his bed. But he needed to be certain that it was what Clarke really wanted, too.

"Are you sure?" he asked, trying desperately to read her face in the soft glow of the muted light.

Clarke shrugged, then reached up to drop a quick kiss on his mouth. "I hope you don't think you were the only one who's been going crazy all these months. I broke up with Lexa right after that Christmas party, Bellamy. Why do you think that was?"

Bellamy gaped at her, and he would have pursued that subject if he hadn't felt Clarke tugging at him.

"We can talk about it later," she promised. "Right now, I can think of better things to do."

XXXXXXXXXX

The following Tuesday, Bellamy picked up Clarke to drive her to school for teacher orientation day. Well, maybe it wasn't so much "pick up" as "take with," since Bellamy had left her house in the past four days only long enough to grab some clean clothes and check his mail.

A few eyebrows were raised when they walked into the school hand-in-hand, but only Monty and Harper had anything to say.

"What's going on?" Harper asked, wide-eyed, as soon as she spotted them. Bellamy could see her struggling to make sense of it while at the same time trying not to be nosy.

Clarke smiled at her.

"Harper, did I ever happen to mention to you that I was bisexual?"

"Holy crap! Nope, I'm pretty sure you didn't. That would have been important to know, since this guy's been mooning over you _forever_."

And then she squealed (quietly, of course, appropriate to the setting) and threw her arms around Clarke.

"Did _we_ do this?" she asked, grinning.

"You definitely helped," Clarke said. "You and Octavia."

Monty shook his head and his face screwed up into a sardonic smirk, as though he couldn't quite believe the sudden turn of events.

"Speaking of Octavia," he said, "how did the buko pie turn out?"

"The buko pie turned out great," Bellamy said, grinning down at Clarke. "Just like everything else."


End file.
